[Black Thought]Yo, I hit these emcees with the grip of death like I was a VulcanAin't a lot of "ifs" an "ands", it's just straight talkinIt's hard to swallow at times, so take portionsBitin off more than you can chew, create offenseEmcee species endangered like dolphinsRappers is spittin nails into they own coffins (c'mon)Hear come the Dundee moves rocket-launchin (yeah)Black Thought, quit playin him close and back up off him

[Talib Kweli]Kweli -- spruce to the tree, Bruce to the LeeFavorite emcee, that your favorite rapper used to beOne by one I knock 'em out like Schoolly D - my rhymes is eulogyA flea could move a tree, before ya think ya movin meI black and blue emcees - actin new to me, get smacked stupidlyThat lack skills, like the black community lack unity (uh)Still my rhymes heard like Ali DePhraseStep off the stage to shouts of "Kweli boomayyay!!"

[Pharoahe Monch]See these four emcees came to get downRearrange the rap game, change ya whole soundN**** YOU, got ta, understand the plot taMovin and groovin and always improvin a lot-taI'll outfox the, average Porsche ya Boxster talkBreak the bank on some old Frank Sinatra (New York...)Slash Chi-Town, slash PhillyCheck the blast from Genevo, you can get slapped silly

[Hook]

[Black Thought]Okay... my sound drenches, each of the five sensesAnd hold the shock value of electrified fencesIt's truth or consequences, ride wit us or against usIs you a dedicated soldier, or you a princess, dog?I'm in it to win it and not for the wealthGot a crib with a Grammy and a gat on the shelfNan n**** competition, gotta battle myselfAnd me and Kweli on a mission, gettin Pharoahe for help

[Talib Kweli]From natives walkin in trailor tears to players sippin BelvedereWe always comin well prepared, and all my dogs' smellin fearPLUS, even my n****z from the Bede say you hella-scaredTruth or consequences, and all senses be well-awareYour style - under-developed there, hell if I careWhat hardship you claim to see, but I can tell by your stareN**** you fugazi, sayin ya crew blazinlike sayin Miss Cleo is a true Jamaican, we makin...

[Pharoahe Monch]Guerrilla monsoon rap, smell the fumes, get in tune wit itWhen I attack your city, why'all gon' think Dr. Doom did itSpit it like white trash in seed-spittin contestsWith a vendetta that sent a betta letter bomb to CongressI'm pissed - cumulus clouds of ominousWords of the Thor, the rawness that'll restore ya calmnessUnless, you want to be leg and armlessThat's parapaleg' for those who believe in bomb threats